


Late Afternoon Light

by caras_galadhon (Galadriel)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Blood, Blow Jobs, Horses, M/M, Rough Sex, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 07:04:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/pseuds/caras_galadhon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sean and Viggo spend some quality time in the stables. (Er, or if you prefer to-the-point summaries, "Sean. Viggo. Sex. Almost a PWP. Almost.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Afternoon Light

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://cinzia.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://cinzia.livejournal.com/)**cinzia** , because she pouted and said, "I want more pr0n before bed," and then once I was done ~~bending to her will~~ providing said smut, she demanded I post the results. O_o  Oh, and because I love and adore her, ~~but shh, don't tell her that. I don't think she knows~~. ^_~ Blame her.

[ ](http://community.livejournal.com/mome_awards/)

Sean pushed Viggo up against the hard slats of wood, pressed his back into the stall, grinding against him, biting at his lip. He growled, deep in his throat, pinning Viggo's shoulders to the gate, spurred on by a growing urgency.

Viggo moaned as he pressed back against Sean. He twined his fingers in the short, blond strands of hair that floated around Sean's face, mussed up by their recent, overly-cliché roll in the hay. Viggo pulled him closer, let his hands drift to Sean's shoulders where he gripped his shirt in his fists, grasping and regrasping the material, heedless of the tiny _pop pop pop_ of parting threads.

The stable was close and dark, the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the high windows, and Viggo wondered idly if the motes swirling around them would fill his lungs, drown him in dust and drowsy light. His eyes closed, and as Sean released his lip, Viggo's head nodded backward to rest against the ledge of the stall.

Sean's breath was rough and ragged on his neck, his fingers fumbling, jerking at the button fly that, unlike Viggo, was doing its best to resist his advances. The growling became more pronounced, moved from a rumble in Sean's chest and throat to a clear, rolling sound in his mouth, frustration and desperation coiled together, sound fuelling action. There was a small tearing noise just on the edge of hearing, and a tiny silver disc spun off into the depths of the barn. Sean's growl gained a note of triumph as he dropped gracelessly to his knees, impatiently pushed aside the fabric separating him from Viggo.

_Warm. Wet. Ohfuckinggod--_ The words lingered at Viggo's lips, caught behind his teeth as he was awash in sensation, in the feel of Sean's tongue, his fingers, each swipe, each callus drawing from him a new need for a new word, a new way to urge Sean on. He stayed silent instead, his mouth opening and closing, his hips pushing forward, falling back, hesitating, uncertain how much he could take, wanting, needing more. His fingers carded through Sean's hair and, almost unbelievably, found and removed a piece of straw before he lost all coordination and simply curled them into fists.

Sean sighed, moaned around him, the vibrations sending bright shocks up Viggo's spine. If the dust motes didn't kill him, Viggo was certain, these little jolts of electricity would.

He wanted... No, he _needed_ more than this, needed to feel Sean, hard against him, thrusting inside him, needed to take and be taken in turn. And he knew, just as he knew Sean was hard and aching without feeling him beneath his fingers, that the bastard wasn't going to give him that. Not this time, not when he was so intent, so driven by his own need to make Viggo writhe without hope of retaliation. He moaned, thrust forward into Sean's mouth.

One of Sean's hands came up, and he pressed his forearm across Viggo's abdomen, silently warning him to keep still. He moved forward, swallowing, sighing around Viggo.

Viggo bit back a cry, his hands dropping away from Sean's hair, his nails digging into the wood at his back. He felt something sharp slide into his index finger, knew that the warm trickle that followed was blood. He pressed his bleeding finger against the stall, smearing red into brown and gray, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth as he thought of days hence, of looking at the smudge and remembering. Viggo's cheeks grew warmer, his flush deepening as a gentle breeze stirred his hair, the air stale and thick as any in a barn full of dust, straw, leather and horses. The blood pounded in his ears, and he shuddered, once, twice, still clawing at the stall, hoping to hold out just a little longer, to give himself just one more moment of Sean licking, sucking, kneeling before him.

Something brushed against his face. His eyelids fluttered, unwilling to open. He could feel Sean moving backward, lapping his way up his cock, holding the head in his mouth, his tongue probing gently at the slit. No tiny flitting thing was worth losing even one small fraction of attention to the sliding heat and wet enveloping him.

Sean eased Viggo fully back into his mouth and moaned, low and deep.

There was no more holding on, no more waiting. Viggo's fingers relaxed, slid uselessly against the woodgrain as his hips thrust up. He shuddered as he came, as he felt Sean's pleased rumble, felt his tongue licking, rubbing against him. Viggo gasped, his eyes opening.

Still shuddering, riding the aftershock, he couldn't make sense of the strange sight above him. The familiar cris-crossing pattern of old, curving beams high in the rafters seemed nearer, whiter, browner; entirely unlike a proper ceiling, and he was sure if he reached out he would be able to slide his fingertips across softness. He blinked, willing his eyes to focus, willing Sean's distracting mouth to make that focus a struggle.

There was a snort, followed by a blast of hot, wet air. TJ nuzzled him, just once, before tossing his head in annoyance and retreating into the shadows of the stall, very deliberately turning his back on Viggo.

It was the warm, rolling laughter that stopped Sean from lapping at Viggo's softening cock, that made him look up into crinkling blue eyes.

Viggo pulled Sean to his feet, wrapped his arms around him. All he could do when Sean asked him what the hell he was on about was laugh and hold him tighter. Eventually the green eyes crinkled as well, and the laughter, floating through the air, riding the backs of dust motes, drowned them both.


End file.
